


To Scour the World

by Zippit



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist, Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Communty: fmagiftexchange, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-27
Updated: 2013-06-27
Packaged: 2017-12-16 07:28:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/859489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zippit/pseuds/Zippit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scar must come to a decision while chasing the Elric brothers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Scour the World

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [FMA Gift Exchange](http://fmagiftexchange.livejournal.com) with the prompt: Scar's experiences in Amestris as a refugee and/or serial killer of State Alchemists following the war.
> 
> Thanks to [](http://archiveofourown.org/users/catw00man/profile)[](http://archiveofourown.org/users/catw00man)**catw00man** for the beta. All other errors are mine.

The boy and his brother posed a problem. 

Since the end of the war when he'd woken with the ruins of Ishval around him and his brother's arm stitched in replacement of his own, he’s been certain of one thing: his purpose to wipe the abominations called State Alchemists off the face of the world. Ishvala foretold how they corrupted and tainted the world around them, daring to tread into the realm of God. Until now it was easy as each one he tracked down were old and withered with corruption on their skin and in their hearts from the lives they had led. 

But this boy.… 

He should've been too young to carry the State Alchemist's watch, the arrogant mark of the cursed. Scar has always been assured his quest was righteous, every fiber of his being vibrates with the truth of the matter. The gift his brother gave him could only be used for this purpose. There was no purer purpose. But now…. Scar shakes his head and continues to follow after the boy in his bright red coat and blond ponytail.

He reminds him much of himself and his own brother. The younger trying to reign in the older while the other pays no attention and forges his own path forward. No. He shouldn't feel this way. There is nothing in common with him and these profaners of Ishvala's will. They need to pay for the destruction they wreck on the world. It is the only way.

He ducks behind a corner as the boys come to a stop amid the wreckage of a storefront torn down for whatever reason. The shopkeeper in a white apron with tears running down his face stands there looking dazed and broken. The boys inquire about the damage but the shopkeeper is too stunned to give them a coherent answer. It's of no matter as the boys gather everything that might've been part of the storefront then the boy claps his hands together and presses them to the shattered pieces. In a flash of light the storefront is put back together and the shopkeeper is so overcome with happiness he hugs first the older then larger younger brother.

It's as marvelous as it is profane. A simple series of gestures then the storefront is returned to the way it was. The blatant display of alchemy should make his decision easier but it doesn't. This boy was raised in this blasphemous country, fed on the lies of creation, ensnared before he knew any better. Though he doubts he could convince the child to give up his status as State Alchemist any easier than he could give up his own belief in Ishvala.

He turns away from them in disgust. This should not even be a question. One boy should not cause him to question his purpose. His devotion has served him well in the past several years. Those he has hunted were evil. Their ostentatious belief in their own power and might presided over their souls. They cared little for the death that was soon to come to them.

Each step takes him farther away from the two boys that could be a mirror of his brother and himself, young and determined, alone against the world. He and his brother, they at least, had their people around them. He resettles his glasses to hide his eyes, but the gesture does nothing to hide the doubts in his heart.

Like his glasses these clothes he wears he only wears to blend in with those around him. If he had his choice he'd still wear the loose robes of Ishval but that would bring attention he doesn't desire. Stolen off some clothesline forever ago, he's had to make do breaking nearly every precept of Ishvala even as he carries out the only purpose left to him.

He turns a corner and the smells of a food market hit him. His stomach growls in response and a surge of hate fills him for what he's been reduced to, a common animal scrounging for the scraps he can find to make do. He watches the bustle of unquestioning fools lingering before one stall or the next. He's learned that the potential for alchemy is within every person. It’s their choice to pursue it or let it lie fallow.

He wishes more cared nothing for it, if so the loss of his people may have never happened. But this country is foul down to its roots. Prestige is given to the profaners of nature's law while those who live simply and in accordance with the world around them are subservient. His fists clench by his sides and he shoves them into his pockets.

He earns enough looks for being alone while his purpose of violence exudes into the air around him and he turns away. He strides down another street, no purpose in mind, simply the need to move. A futile effort to escape the thoughts and outrages he sees all around him. How many of these buildings, these streets, were built from the foul hands of alchemy?

This Central City floats on water that flows freely under the streets and walkways. No natural being would desire to have his home and work built above water. Certainly it’s needed nearby to harness the infinite power of nature but not like this abomination. The water and food taste untainted but how can he truly tell? Then there’s that compound of the Fuhrer raised above the land like a beacon of gross power and corruption. He knows little about this Fuhrer, only the important facts. He is not a State Alchemist himself and warrants no further attention.

Scar wanders into a park, one of the few in this city devoid of natural things. The earthy smells and the gentle sssssh-ssssh of the leaves brushing against each other soothe his soul. He wanders off the path, even here there are attempts to tame the order of nature, and he settles under the shade of a tall tree. The sounds of cars and civilization still filter through but are dimmer than in other places. He cleanses his hands in the softly running stream nearby before he dabs the swirls and streaks of prayer on his face. He leans back against the warm bark where he can feel the roughness through the shirt cloth and rests his hands on his knees. He closes his eyes and focuses on the world around him.

He focuses first on the stream. The water is so abundant here while in Ishval it had been struggled for and cherished. It had been treated as precious and never wasted. But here where the water is as much part of the streets as the river that curves around this sinful city, it's of little consequence. People use it for frivolous things, flowers in the windows, sprinklers in the summer to cool down, or packaged and sold. Water is all the same. Nothing should make one form greater than the other.

He moves his hands to ground beside him and inhales deeply the green crush of grass tickling his fingers, so rare in the cities of this country. Plastered over or removed for the purpose of concrete and progress, nature is twisted and turned for their purpose. No harmony achieved, instead simple subjugation. It should not be this way. The earth cries out for better. It clamors to be heard above the everyday worries and petty concerns of people living in the cities. 

Tendrils of green struggle their way through the cracks to call attention to the true plight of the cities' citizens but are ignored as destroyers of the image of progress. This sheltered world of cities cries out for the untidiness of nature. They lack the greens and browns and vibrant colors that nature would afford them. Instead they settle for the drabness of greys and blacks. The cities have turned their backs on their connection with the earth.

Scar breathes deep of the air. It tastes gritty and dry on his tongue. Not in the pure way of the howling winds of Ishval but of disease and taint. The breezes here come from the cars and not of nature herself. The isolated pockets of true wind linger only on the edges of the city. In some ways those that live in the countryside, far from the cities, feel as much like his brothers and sisters as those he'd lost in Ishval.

They trust in nature. They clothe and surround themselves in it. The buildings they live in are of their own work and pride. They know the patterns of the earth and how to use it to their best ability without destroying it. But then even in the countryside the profanity of alchemy can still take root. All those he has chased and sent to a meeting with Ishvala, they all cannot have been born in the cities. The ideas of alchemy are too profound, too ever present in this country.

He brings his hands back onto his knees and focuses on himself. He has reconnected to the world around him. He only misses the true connection with earth. There is no sand here to dig his fingers into and let the sins of the world be scoured from his flesh. One day he will return to the sands of Ishval and give himself into the care of Ishvala. But today is not that day.

He breathes calm and slow feeling the thrum of his heart in his chest and the movement of his muscles. He is one with the world and he is of the world. Life flows from it into him and back out again. Harmony. And that is why he will rid the world of State Alchemists and their profanity no matter their age. Once that has been achieved the world will once again be in balance and God's domain will be undisturbed. That is his purpose and he will not stray.


End file.
